Little Man Reid
by Lexikal
Summary: 5-year-old Spencer Reid experiences his first day of Kindergarten and quickly learns that he is nothing like most children. A one-shot well, three-shot, I guess fic. Title inspired by the movie "Little Man Tate"...Please read and review!


**Title:** Little Man Reid by Lexikal

**Rated:** K+

**Fandom:** Criminal Minds

**Author's Note:** I know... a _Criminal Minds_ story rated "K+"...weird, right? I must've made a mistake. _Nope_.** This story is a two-shot (or maybe a three shot?)** about Reid's first day in Kindergarten in Las Vegas (Reid, if I remember correctly, turned 24 in season 1 in 2005, so I "decided" he was born in 1981; I couldn't find any definitive source that has Reid's date of birth listed). This story takes place in September of 1986, when Reid is five years old. I chose the title of this story to pay homage to one of my favourite childhood movies, "Little Man Tate", about a young child prodigy. It's also a character study of Reid as a child.

* * *

"Remember, Spencer, you don't speak to anyone except for your teacher. And wash your hands whenever you can. These places are just crawling with germs..." Diana Reid held onto her son's hand tightly as they walked the four blocks to Spencer Reid's school. He had to run to keep up with her quick pace.

"Crawling?" five-year-old Spencer Reid inquired; his eyes bugging behind his glasses. "What sort of germs _crawl_?"

"For crying out loud, Spencer, it's a figure of speech. And don't ask me what sort of germs. I don't know the names... just germs, okay? Disease-producing microorganisms. Just make sure to wash your hands, and stay away from any children who are coughing. Or look ill."

Spencer nodded solemnly.

"_Mom_?"

They were three blocks away from the school now. Diana Reid stared down at her little boy. "What is it, Spencer?"

"Why didn't you have me vaccinated, if you're so worried about disease?"

"Those vaccinations aren't good for you, Spencer. They contain Thimerosal. Do you know what that is?"

"It's a mercury-based preservative," the little boy said flatly. He'd read the reports on the possible dangers of vaccines- especially in relation to the increase in autism in young children- that his mother had photocopied and brought home from the library.

"Well, would I let you drink the mercury from the thermometer at home?" Diana Reid questioned.

Spencer shrugged.

"Well? Would I?"

"No, Mom," Spencer said softly. Diana began to walk faster.

"So why would I let those quacks inject you with Mercury? Vaccinations are unhealthy. They are another way for the allopathic community to make money from the pain and suffering of the common citizen..."

"Humans started experimenting with smallpox vaccinations in 200 BCE," the little boy piped up, hoping to calm his mother down. She was getting distressed, that much was obvious. "The word vaccination comes from the Latin word _vacca_, for cow, because the first vaccination was derived from a virus affecting cows; the cowpox virus."

Diana Reid blinked, and then nodded. She was used to her little boy's encyclopaedic knowledge. Spencer had been an avid reader since he'd been two years old, and at five would often sit and read next to her for hours. He read exceptionally quickly for such a young child, often polishing off three or four large tomes a day. Chaucer, Proust, Shakespeare and the poetry of Elliot and Yeats were his favourites. So far. Although in the last few weeks he'd also developed an interest in the writing of Carl Sagan and Stephen Hawking. As for music, he enjoyed rock and roll from the 1970s, the moody blues, and classical music, particularly composers from the Romantic era.

Diana Reid had purchased him his own record player in honour of beginning Kindergarten and a large collection of classical music records from different time periods, namely the Romantic era. Spencer grinned like the cat that ate the canary as he studied each record, reading off the names of the composers: Beethoven, Weber, Bach, Schubert, Mozart, Mahler and Grieg.

A few days ago Diana Reid had found her young son standing on his bed and belting out "Lacrimosa" in time to Mozart's Requiem. He'd stopped when he saw his mother staring at him, and grinned.

"Do you know what those words mean, Spencer?" She'd asked the little boy. He'd nodded shyly and readjusted his glasses.

"How? How do you know, Spencer?"

"I make educated guesses, like you taught me to do when we studied French while reading Proust. Lacrimosa is obviously the antecedent of the word lachrymose. So I am guessing it means the same thing in this song, considering it's a requiem, Mom."

"Have you memorized the entire song?"

"I_ think_ so. They really stretch the syllables out, though. But I like Latin, Mom. It's a very...condensed language, compared to English. There is so much meaning per word."

And then she'd let the boy get back to his singing.

And now, he was still talking, rambling on about cowpox and Edward Jenner.

"Where did you read that?" Diana Reid asked as they continued. They were only two blocks away now.

"In a book at the library on epidemiology," Spencer said as he kept pace beside her.

"I don't even know why I am wasting my time- and your time- dragging you here. You're going to be bored silly, Spencer. I hope you don't think me enrolling you is any sort of punitive action on my part."

"No. I know children have to be legally enrolled." Spencer said solemnly. One block away now. Diana Reid stopped. The front of the elementary school was brimming with laughing and shouting children and their parents.

"Do you want me to go in with you?" Diana Reid said uneasily. Spencer studied his mother's face for a moment before finally shaking his head. She was scared. Of the germs, probably, or maybe the people... or maybe some other fear. His mom was afraid of a lot of things.

"It's okay Mom. I know what room I am supposed to go to."

"Okay. You have your lunch money?"

"I'm in Kindergarten, Mom. I come home at noon." Spencer said softly.

"Oh, right. Well... have a good day, Spencer." And she hugged him. Spencer hugged her back, turned, and walked into the school.

* * *

His teacher's name was Mrs. Choquette. She seemed nice enough, and was wearing a sun-dress and a pink cardigan.

They each had their own cubbies for their jackets and boots and lunchboxes, and each cubby was marked with a laminated construction paper name tag with their names written in bold, black letters- blue construction paper for the boys and pink for the girls.

The bell rang and the teacher invited the children into a circle. They all sat down cross-legged.

"Hello, everybody," Mrs. Choquette said brightly, smiling at all the new, small faces. "Today is the first day of Kindergarten, so I just want to welcome all of you. When I call your name, I want you to put your hand up and say _here_, okay? That's called roll-call."

_Roll Call_? Spencer's mind raced. The only time he'd ever heard that term before was when he'd read about the military, about soldiers names being called out by drill sergeants.

"Are we going to say the pledge of allegiance?" One little boy called hopefully from his place in the circle.

"I'm sorry... and you _are_?" Mrs. Choquette asked pleasantly.

"William Brooks," the boy said, "but my friends call me Billy."

"Well, Billy, we might say the pledge of allegiance later if we have time, and we definitely will tomorrow, but before we continue I think now is a good time to go over the rules for this class."

And she went over them. No touching other people. No stealing. No interrupting. And if you had something to say, you raised your hand first.

The first order of the day was to learn to know each other better, according to Mrs. Choquette. Each child in the circle would introduce themselves: they would tell the class their name, some of their hobbies, their favourite color and what they wanted to be when they grew up.

Spencer stared around. Maybe this assignment would be interesting. Maybe he'd meet another child like himself.

But after the first eight children had gone, Reid knew that he probably was going to be what his mother affectionately called a "social outlier".

Reid listened half-heartedly as William Brooks, the boy who had interrupted to ask about the pledge of allegiance, began to speak.

"Well, my name is William Brooks, but I prefer to be called Billy," the child said brightly. "Um...I enjoy training my dog, Baxter. He's a west highland terrier. I also enjoy playing hockey and I like to play Chess and read. My favourite colour is probably... green. All shades of green, really. When I want to grow up..." Billy Brooks screwed up his face and finally shrugged. "I haven't made up my mind yet."

Mrs. Choquette made some quick notes on her clipboard. She'd been making notes after every child's "introduction". And then, sometimes, she'd asked certain children additional questions.

"You play Chess, Billy? That's pretty impressive. You'll be happy to hear that our school has a Chess club... although I don't know of any Kindergarteners that are in the club. What do you like to read?"

"Books about Chess," Billy said with a smirk. Mrs. Choquette made another quick note and then gazed out at the sea of young faces.

"Who here, besides Billy, knows what _Chess_ is?"

Spencer Reid raised his hand slowly when it became apparent that none of the other children knew what the answer was.

"_Yes_?" The teacher asked, looking at Spencer kindly.

"Chess is a two player strategy game played on a board of 64 squares arranged in an eight by eight grid. The present form of the game emerged in Europe during the second half of the 15th century, but the oldest known form of a game like chess is called_ Chatrang _which emerged in Persia, before spreading to India and then to the Western World. Modern day chess involves 32 pieces, or 16 pieces per player, including..."

Mrs. Choquette was staring at Spencer Reid, mouth slightly agape.

"T-Thank you. Did everyone hear that? Chess is a two player board game? Okay, _next please_."

And so it went, until it was Spencer Reid's turn to introduce himself to the class.

The teacher gazed over at him, almost cagily. When Spencer failed to begin speaking she coughed.

"Um... you can go now...?" She said gently.

"Oh," Spencer said, suddenly feeling timid. Twenty pairs of five-year-old eyes turned to look at him.

"Um..._Hello_. My name is Spencer Reid? I don't have a middle name. I prefer to be called Spencer."

"Okay, Spencer," Mrs. Choquette said warmly, smiling at the tiny genius. "Do you remember the other questions?"

"Y-yes. I have many hobbies, according to my Mom. I love Latin, and French... and classical music... and studying art. I like to paint and sculpt with clay. I like to listen to the Moody Blues and memorize poetry, especially T.S. Elliot, but many other poets, as well. I am interested in physics and astronomy and have my own telescope, but it's hard to see much here in Vegas because of all the light pollution. I also like to write poetry, and I like to read."

"What do you read, Spencer?"

Spencer Reid blinked, as if confused.

"Excuse me?"

"What do you like to read, Spencer?" the teacher asked again, looking at the bespectacled little boy intently.

"Well... um... _this week_ I read _the complete works of T.S. Eliot,_ _Watership Down_ by Richard Adams, _Macbeth_, _The Metamorphosis_ by Franz Kafka, _The Outsider_ by Albert Camus and I almost managed to complete reading _A Clockwork Orange_ by Anthony Burgess but my mother thought that last book was too violent for someone my age, so she took it away."

"You read _all _of those this week?" the kindergarten teacher asked, looking shocked.

Reid nodded slowly. Something was wrong. Everyone was staring at him. Even William Brooks.

"What's your favourite colour, Spencer?" The teacher asked slowly, as if afraid of the answer.

"Um... I don't really have a favourite colour." Spencer Reid said softly.

"And what do you want to be when you grow up?"

"Well... lately I have really been interested in epidemiology and virology, but also xenobiology. My mother says that xenobiology isn't a booming industry, though, and that I should consider a less esoteric field, possibly, like quantum physics or something like..."

The boy stopped abruptly. Despite what the teacher had said about having to raise your hand before talking, some of the other children were leaning over and whispering to each other. Reid could hear them; words like "weird" and "strange" and "freak" were already being passed around the proverbial grapevine.

Spencer Reid stood up unsteadily, the urge to cry suddenly overwhelming.

"_Spencer_?" Mrs. Choquette asked concernedly as the little boy glanced over at the jeering faces of his peers. Then he bolted from the room.

* * *

"Spencer? You're home early." Diana Reid said as she heard Spencer stomp through the front door.

"I left. That place is pathetic. Why didn't you _warn_ me? I felt like an extra-terrestrial... like...like _E.T. _or something!" the five year old squeaked, and Diana could hear the tears in his voice.

"Spencer, _honey_...what happened?"

But he'd already stalked away. She heard the door to his bedroom close, and then, after about 20 seconds, the sound of Mozart's Requiem filled the air.

Diana Reid sighed wearily. Later she'd go and read to him. Whatever he wanted. Maybe even give him back that horrible _Clockwork Orange_ book.

She sighed and turned back to her book. Better he learned now that humans were cruel than be overprotected and emotionally flayed alive as an adult...

* * *

_**Please review if you liked this (or didn't like it)!**_ I know this story isn't like my usual stories, but I figured I needed to try my hand at writing something a bit different...


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